


Don't Stop the Party

by getpitchslapped



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-04-01 00:34:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3999172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/getpitchslapped/pseuds/getpitchslapped
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chloe challenges Beca to a New Year’s Eve drink-off. Beca’s never one to back down from a challenge—also, she can never seem to say “no” to Chloe Beale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Stop the Party

**Author's Note:**

> This was written on New Year's. Obviously.

“So?”

Beca looks up from her laptop, blinking up at an expectant Chloe, who sits watching her from the other end of the couch. “So what?”

“Beca, I’ve been talking to you for five minutes,” Chloe says exasperatedly. “Have you been listening to  _anything_  I’ve said?”

“Um, sure,” Beca says, wracking her brain for the topic of their apparent conversation. “You think that, contrary to popular belief, Kourtney is the best Kardashian.”

“ _No_ ,” Chloe says. Then she pauses. “Well, yes, but that’s not what I was saying. I was talking about New Year’s Eve.”  
Beca wrinkles her nose. “What  _about_  New Year’s Eve?”

“Do you want to do something?” Chloe asks, absently picking a hair from her sweater, propping her heels on the coffee table that sits in the middle of the living room in their shared apartment. They had picked it up from a garage sale, and last time Aubrey had visited, she’d said it looked “homeless.” (This, of course, led to Beca snidely pointing out that tables “can’t be homeless” and “even though you’re in law school you have no jurisdiction here.”)

“Like what?”

“Like, go out,” Chloe says. Beca stares at her blankly. “You know, as in leave this apartment?”

Beca pauses, considering. “Will there be wifi?”

“I don’t know.” Chloe throws her hands up in frustration.

“Then no.” Beca turns her attention back to her laptop. After about 30 seconds of silence, she sneaks a look out of the corner of her eye at Chloe.

Bad idea.

“Oh no,” Beca says, taking in Chloe’s signature “I didn’t get my way” pout—trembling lower lip, shiny eyes, and furrowed brows. “Stop it.”

Chloe doesn’t respond, just wipes at the corner of her eye and makes a little sniffle for extra effect.

Beca tries to refocus on the mix she had been toying with, but her resolve breaks after about a minute of listening to those fucking whimpers that she  _knows_  are fake, but for some reason can never say no to.

“Ugh, fine,” Beca says, slamming her laptop shut and crossing her arms.   
Chloe squeals and claps her hands, bouncing in her seat. “You’re the best!”

Beca returns the hug that Chloe forces on her with an eye roll. “Just know that I hate you, Beale.”

* * *

“QUE NA PARE LA FIESTA!”

Beca winces. “Did we have to invite Amy?”

Chloe shushes her, grabbing Beca’s arm and slowing her pace a bit. “I felt bad; she had to come back from break early because that was the only flight she could get.”

“Who’s ready to get fucked up?” Amy calls back to them.

“We still have two hours until midnight, Amy,” Beca says, yanking open the door of the bar they’ve picked. (It’s kind of grimy, and she’s pretty sure she saw an exterminator truck parked outside of it earlier in the week, but it doesn’t check IDs.)

Amy grins at them. “It’s already 2014 down under, bitches.” She throws her arms out to the sides and gyrates her hips, winking at a couple of guys who gawk at her from the bar. Chloe stifles a giggle as Beca stifles a groan.

“Come on, Twiggy,” Amy says, grabbing a strong hold of Beca’s upper arm. “Let’s see how much of a lightweight you are.”

Chloe snorts. “We won’t be here long, then.”

“Hey!” Beca says, shooting her a look. “I can hold my liquor just as well as you can.”

“Mmm, I’m sure,” Chloe says with an exaggerated nod.

“I can!” Beca insists, puffing out her chest.

“Is that a challenge?” Chloe’s eyes twinkle dangerously.

“If you ain’t gettin’ drunk, get the fuck out the club!” Amy shouts, still gripping Beca’s arm.

 _Say no_ , Beca’s brain says.

“Yes,” Beca’s mouth says.

“WOO!” Amy cheers, dragging the girls to the bar. “Shots, shots, shots, shots, sh—”

“Amy,” Beca interrupts. “Enough with LMFAO lyrics.”

Amy shrugs and slaps some money on the bar, ordering a round of shots with a wink to the bartender. He’s greasy and is missing one of his front teeth, and frankly Beca’s surprised he wasn’t put out by the exterminators. Beca pries Amy’s fingers off of her arm and glances at Chloe, who is bouncing on the balls of her feet to the beat of the song, which is playing so loudly it reverberates in Beca’s chest. She thinks to herself that she would be much better than whomever is controlling the music, and is looking around for the DJ when a tray of shot glasses is placed in front of her.

Chloe nudges her with her elbow. “Ready, Mitchell?”

Beca squares her shoulders. “You’re going down.”

Amy passes a shot glass to each girl, then takes one for herself. “Happy New Year, aca-bitches!” she says, then tips her head back and downs the liquid.

Beca closes her eyes and downs the shot, coughing as the alcohol—she doesn’t even know what  _kind_ —burns the back of her throat. “Blegh,” she says, sticking out her tongue. “That’s gross.”

“You’re not backing down, are you?” Chloe teases, picking up another glass.

Despite the fuzzy feeling that starts to hum in her stomach, Beca picks up another shot. “Nope.”

Chloe winks at her before drinking it, Beca following suit. It’s even worse than the first, and her lips are starting to feel a little bit numb. She touches them experimentally before she notices Chloe smirking at her. They’ve gotten drunk together enough times—at parties, holiday celebrations, and their Friday-night  _America’s Next Top Model_  drinking game ritual—for her to know the signs of Beca’s state of inebriation. She raises an eyebrow along with another shot.

“Number three.” And down it goes.

Beca’s definitely feeling buzzed now, leaning heavier on the surface of the bar. Then she frowns. “Where’s Amy?”

The two of them glance around furtively, before Chloe points. “There.” Beca follows the gesture, and, sure enough, Amy is in the center of the dance floor, surrounded by not one, not two, but  _three_  guys.  
“I don’t know how she does it,” Chloe says, shaking her head. Beca nods her agreement, but the gesture makes her head spin a bit. Her knuckles tighten on the edge of the bar, and she glances at Chloe to see if she noticed. She thinks she might have, because the other girl grins wickedly and holds out another shot. Beca suspects her drunk alter ego must have been a competitive athlete in another life, because she raises the glass to her lips without a second thought.

She also gets a little existential when she’s drunk.

“Ready to admit defeat?” Chloe asks sweetly as Beca sways on her feet.

“No, I’m fine,” Beca says, but the words come out a bit slurred, and her lips don’t feel like her own. She touches them again, but then gets distracted by her hand, which feels dismbodied right now—

“Okay, you’re done,” Chloe says, tugging her hand down. She wraps an arm around Beca’s waist.

“I’m good,” Beca insists, but leans into Chloe’s side nonetheless. “You smell good,” she adds as an afterthought.

Chloe chuckles and tugs her onto the dance floor. She dances as best as she can while still supporting Beca (she’s what the Bellas call a “stationary drunk”), bouncing along to the upbeat tempo of the song.

“What time ’s it?” Beca asks, her breath hot in Chloe’s ear.

Chloe fumbles with her phone for a moment. “Ooh, five minutes until midnight. Let’s go outside, there are supposed to be fireworks.” She half-drags Beca to the door, only stumbling a couple of times (she’s not as drunk as Beca, but still tipsy) before they push through the door.

“It’s cold,” Beca whines, her breath fogging as she speaks. It is a bit sobering, though, and she feels slightly less unsteady.

“Aren’t you from Seattle?” Chloe asks.

“That doesn’t change the fact that it’s fucking cold,” Beca huffs. She looks adorable, Chloe muses, with her red-tinged cheeks and nose.

“I’m sorry, princess, would you like me to turn up the heat?” Chloe teases.

Beca’s response is a whack to her shoulder. “Shut up.”

They stand there in comfortable silence for several moments, sharing each other’s body heat, until the people around them begin to count down.

“It’s  _happening_ ,” Beca says urgently, tugging at her arm, as if Chloe couldn’t hear the resounding chant of “5… 4… 3… 2…”

She doesn’t actually hear the finish of the countdown, because suddenly Beca’s hands are fisting in the front of her shirt and her lips are on hers, soft and tentative at first before pressing harder. She’s stunned for a moment before her body reacts of its own accord, and her hands drift up to tangle her fingers in Beca’s soft hair. It’s sloppy, and tastes like God-knows-whatever they’ve been drinking, but leaves Chloe feeling tingly in a way she knows isn’t from the alcohol.

“Wow,” Chloe breathes when they part. Her fingers are still caught loosely in Beca’s hair, and the other girl’s hands, which are resting at her waist, don’t move either.

Beca looks up at her and smiles sheepishly. “Happy New Year.”

Chloe grins. “Happy New Year.”


End file.
